


Hello, Goodbye

by silverfoxstole



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (TV Movie 1996)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Night of the Doctor, This got much angstier than I'd originally intended, Twenty years of the TV Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:18:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6856462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxstole/pseuds/silverfoxstole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>31st of December, 2019. The Doctor has visited Grace every year on the same day, but this time it’s different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Goodbye

He hadn’t come.

Hungry and tired, Grace wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or disappointed; it had been a long day and all she wanted was a hot bath and a glass of wine, but a little part of her, the one that, though she would never openly admit it, always missed the Doctor when he wasn’t there, felt a twinge of sadness. She’d left a note for him on the kitchen table explaining her last-minute change of shift, but the lights were off and there was no sign of the TARDIS in the yard. After nineteen years, maybe he’d finally decided to call it a day and let their little tradition of seeing in the New Year together fade away.

She sighed. After the madness and terror involved in saving the world, real life had seemed an anti-climax for a while; occasionally she caught herself wondering what might have happened if she’d actually said yes when he asked her to go with him, allowed that little romantic part to daydream before her practical side kicked in and she concentrated on putting her career back together. By the time Christmas rolled around she’d pretty much convinced herself that it had all been a hallucination, some dream induced by the chaos of the Millennium, and been so successful that when she opened the door on the thirty-first to see him standing there, charming and boyish and drop-dead gorgeous, all she’d been able to do for several moments was just stare at him until, frowning in concern, he asked if she was quite all right.

And so it was the next year, and every one after that; sometimes he was alone, sometimes he’d bring Charley, or Lucie, or – on one particularly memorable occasion – a six-foot chameleon lizard called C’Rizz wearing slacks and a sweater, his claws scraping on her laminate flooring. Grace hadn’t been entirely sure what to make of that; the Doctor acted as though having a humanoid reptile sitting at the kitchen table trying to hold a mug of coffee was the most normal thing in the world, but as she made conversation and did her best not to notice the fact that C’Rizz seemed to be blending in with the wallpaper she couldn’t help but wonder exactly what was happening to her life.

She knew that she could never have joined him amongst the stars; her heart would never have been in it, her feet quite happy to remain on Earth while he racketed about the universe with a perpetual wanderlust she just couldn’t understand. But despite her love of order and routine, the chaos that followed in his wake for a couple of days every year, turning her world upside down with the force of a miniature whirlwind, didn’t really seem to matter. He’d breathlessly explain it all with a bright grin and she’d forget the fact that there were aliens in her living room and he’d parked the TARDIS on top of her favourite rose bush _again_ and just be glad to see him.

Now it seemed that was all gone, and that little part of her that used to dream died a bit more.

Grace turned the key in the lock and had the door halfway open when she heard the groan; somewhere to her left, in the shadows of the porch, she could just see something moving. Her hand was already in her bag, reaching for the can of mace, even as the other was sliding into her pocket for her phone. “Hello?” she called hesitantly, thumb paging to the call screen and starting to dial 911. “Who’s there?”

The noise came again, and to her amazement it sounded vaguely familiar. Abandoning her phone for the moment she reached into the hall and switched on the porch light; it was gloomy, the bulb needing replacing, but she could clearly see a human form crumpled amongst the planters, make out the legs clad in moleskin trousers and battered brown boots laced to the knee, the soles muddy and worn, that she must have narrowly avoided tripping over on her way to the door. The rest of him was hidden in the shadows thrown by the evergreens, but there was a hand lying loosely on the step, a large, long fingered hand that Grace recognised immediately.

“Oh, my God... Doctor? Doctor, can you hear me?” Throwing her purse and laptop into the hall she crouched down beside him; he was sprawled against the side of the house as though he’d made it up the steps and just collapsed. Slipping an arm around him she managed to hoist him into a sitting position and her stomach swooped in shock at the state of him: he was deathly pale beneath the blood and dirt that spattered his face, his chin unshaven and his eyes rolling behind their closed lids, lips moving as he muttered under his breath. Gently she tapped his cheek, hoping to elicit some response; after a few moments his eyelids fluttered and a slit of fuzzy pale blue appeared. His brows drew sharply together and he stared without apparently seeing her, as though under the influence of some narcotic. “It’s all right,” she told him, and he just blinked owlishly. “We’ll get you indoors. Can you stand?”

He didn’t appear to be taking in her words. Drawing his arm across her shoulders and wrapping her own around his waist she stood, taking him with her; he was much heavier than he looked and it was like trying to move a drunk, as he was completely uncoordinated and, from the little winces and moans he made as they staggered into the house, probably injured as well. Carefully she lowered him down onto the sofa and turned to switch on the lights. In the harsh electric glare he looked even worse. Over time, she eventually got used to the uncomfortable fact that she grew older while he barely seemed to age a day; now, however, his face was gaunt, somehow having gained twenty years in the last twelve months, his hair darker, cropped short, though the curls were just as unruly as ever. The old clothes, the fancy dress costume he’d clung to for so long, even going so far as to base his entire wardrobe around it, were gone: the green coat was broadcloth, not velvet, singed and fraying at the edges, the silk cravat replaced by a dark blue scarf knotted sloppily around his throat. He coughed, fingers splayed across a waistcoat embroidered with gold thread that seemed the only hint of frivolity, and Grace was quick to return to his side, unbuttoning the fabric to find a shirt wet with blood beneath.

What the hell had happened to him?

***

She was cleaning out the cuts on his chest when his eyes snapped open. He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment before his gaze dropped to her; he frowned, and his mouth opened but she rested a finger against his lips and shook her head. “Not now. Just rest and let me finish up.”

With a long sigh he let his head fall back against the pillow. It was strange to see him so still; normally he was constantly fidgeting, tapping his fingers or his feet, pacing about, desperate to be off and moving, onto the next adventure. For a while she thought he might have passed out again, but then his face twisted in pain as her swab touched a particularly tender area and he caught his lower lip between his teeth. He sucked in a shuddering breath and his eyes opened again, shooting her an accusatory glare which she countered with a shrug of apology. When the wounds were clear and reduced to bleeding sluggishly she allowed her hand to rest lightly over his left heart, that uneven beat and the unnatural chill of his skin the only suggestion that he was something other than human.

“You’re still fibrillating badly,” she murmured, recalling their first meeting, when she’d been convinced she’d just allowed a madman into her home yet couldn’t help but be intrigued by the apparent medical impossibility before her.

He shook his head with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Call it a souvenir of your handiwork.”

Grace swatted him on the arm. “Don’t insult your doctor, Doctor.”

Getting him out of his coat and shirt so that she could bandage the cuts (scratches? Whatever the hell they were) was tricky but they managed it. Grace brought him a washcloth to clean his face and covered him with a throw from the back of the couch; they didn’t speak again until she had made a pot of tea from the caddy she kept just for him and watched him drink, concerned when his hand trembled and she had to help him hold the cup. As she took it back a sudden whizz and squeal outside made her jump, the cup flying from her hand; thankfully it hit the rug rather than the floor and she felt rather foolish when the rocket exploded in a shower of purple sparks and she realised from the hollering of her neighbours and the hooting of ships out in the bay that it was midnight.

“Is that... fireworks?” the Doctor asked, puzzled. He tried to peer through the window from his supine position on the sofa.

“Yeah. Sometimes I wish they wouldn’t let them off every year; it takes some of the magic away, don’t you think?”

He flicked an eyebrow. “They say familiarity breeds contempt. Not sure it’s a philosophy to which I’ve ever been inclined to subscribe. But wait, wait, wait... fireworks, cheering, bells... I take it that means it’s New Year’s Eve?”

“New Year’s Day now. January the first, 2020. I didn’t see the TARDIS; I thought you weren’t coming this year,” Grace remarked.

“I hadn’t intended to, not at this particular moment.”

She sat down on the couch by his feet and started unlacing his boots. They were scuffed and scraped, and had evidently seen a lot of wear. A little voice in her head wondered if he still had Brian’s shoes. “Want to tell me what happened?”

There was a long pause; she pulled off one boot and started on the other. Underneath his socks were running to holes. With a deep sigh he dropped his head back and ran a hand through his hair, wincing as the movement pulled on his wounds; she could see a few strands of silver threaded amongst the brown. “Do you really want to know?”

“Hey.” Grace abandoned the laces and put a hand on his knee, thumb stroking it through the soft fabric of his trousers. “I may need glasses to read now but that doesn’t mean I miss what’s right in front of me. You’re hurt, you’re exhausted and you’ve obviously not been taking care of yourself. I’ve never seen you like this before, and it’s scaring the hell out of me.”

“Things have changed.”

Grace pursed her lips. “Anyone with half an eye could see that. Is there no one looking after you? What happened to Charley, to Lucie - ”

“Gone. They’re all gone.” His voice was flat, but when he did finally look at her his expression was bleak, his eyes full of more pain than anyone had any right to bear. “I’m quite alone now.”

“Are they...” She swallowed, not wanting to voice the word.

He did it for her. “Dead? Yes, they’re dead. C’Rizz, Lucie, Tamsin... Charley too for all I know. All gone because of me, because I didn’t realise how dangerous the universe was becoming until it was too late.” The hand still in his hair clenched around a fistful of curls. “Stupid, _stupid_ old Time Lord. It never used to be like this, before the war started casting its shadow. Now they’re dying all the time.”

“War?” A chill crept down Grace’s spine at the mention of the word. “What war? What’re you talking about?”

She must have looked as startled as she felt, as the Doctor reached out and grasped her hand with some of his usual energy. “There’s a war going on, out there, burning its way across the universe,” he said, gesturing towards the window and the fireworks still exploding across the sky as his explanation tripped over itself in its haste to roll off his tongue. “The ripples haven’t reached this far yet but they will, and when they do you probably won’t even notice. A few things might be different: you might prefer coffee when yesterday all you wanted to drink was tea, or you could suddenly work in a different hospital, specialise in another field of medicine. Your hair might be shorter, or your eyes green. It won’t really matter because you won’t remember the way it was before.” He met her gaze, held it with a deadly serious one of his own. “You might never have met me.”

“I... who is doing this?” she asked, horrified.

The bleak look was back. “Causality has been fracturing for some time, allowing more and more unlicensed time travel. Such transgressions used to be strictly monitored by Gallifrey but policing became lax and fewer and fewer were acted upon until eventually the worst possible outcome occurred: the Daleks gained the ability to travel in time.”

“The Daleks. Oh my God.” Grace had thankfully never met a Dalek amongst the assorted alien races that had crossed her path over the last two decades, but she had heard of them and felt her blood run cold. “What did the Time Lords do?”

 “I tried to warn them, they saw the signs in the Matrix millennia ago but did nothing about it; when they did finally realise what was happening it was too late. The High Council believed there was nothing for it but to declare war, but as a generally indolent race of observers they didn’t have much of a clue about what that would actually _mean_. The fighting has been going on for centuries, the causal nexus turned inside out; planets, whole solar systems, are being obliterated, written out of history, races time-looped or annihilated, never having existed. Time is burning, being ripped apart, and she is screaming.”

“Can’t you do something? Stop them?”

“I’m not a soldier,” he said sharply, his eyes suddenly as hard as flint. “I won’t fight.”

“There must be _something_ you can do,” Grace insisted. “I know you; you told me you offered the Master your hand even after all he’d done. You don’t give up on anyone.”

“I haven’t given up. But it’s been so long that I can’t even remember when I started trying to find the outer edges of the devastation and stop it spreading; every single time I’ve failed.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I’ve had to watch worlds destroyed, listen to children crying out for parents who are lying in the dust, barely recognisable. I do my best, help where I can, save a few lives, but ultimately it makes no difference.”

“All you can do is try. Even one life - ”

“I didn’t want to come here,” he said, and his mouth quirked slightly in something that wasn’t quite a smile as he lifted his free hand to touch her cheek. “You were the only one I thought I could protect; as long as you were far away from me it wouldn’t matter, the war would barely touch your life. You’d forget about me and move on, oblivious but gloriously alive. But the TARDIS had other ideas, the sentimental old girl. I only just made it back that last time; the last thing I remember was collapsing in the console room with the sound of the engines ringing in my ears. She must have brought me here, somewhere she thought I would be safe. Sanctuary, if you like.”

“Then stay with me,” Grace said, the words out of her mouth before she’d had time to consider them. “If it’s such hell out there stay here. You’re a Time Lord, so take some time out.”

He shook his head, the energy dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. For a moment he looked impossibly old. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Anything’s possible, that’s what you told me.” It all seemed so long ago, another lifetime.

“Not this time.” His eyelids were fluttering; it was quite clear he was trying to stay awake but the pull of exhaustion was too strong. She took his hand, pressing it against her face for a moment before lowering it to his chest.

“You’re tired,” she said, getting up. In a few moments his remaining boot had joined the other on the floor and she’d tucked the throw over him like a mother with her child. “Get some rest; we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

He was far gone but he managed a weary nod; barely reacting when she pressed a kiss to his forehead. Grace didn’t sleep until the early hours, alternately watching over him and gazing up at the stars through her kitchen window.

***

She was sitting out on the deck with a cup of coffee, the steam mingling with her breath as it fogged in the air, when he joined her the next morning. His shirt and waistcoat had been soaking for most of the night but were probably ruined; the tears in the fabric would see to that, even if the stains ever came out; he’d pulled his coat around his shoulders to hide his bandaged torso, and gave her a slightly embarrassed smile through the glass of the screen door. Grace finished her drink and got up to stop him venturing outside; his normal body temperature might be lower than a human’s but he was still injured and she wasn’t about to allow him into the cold after losing so much blood.

Ushering him upstairs she ran him a bath and dug out some things of Greg’s that he’d never bothered to come back for, waiting in the spare bedroom until he was done so she could check on the cuts and change the dressings. By the time he returned, washed and shaved and wearing a clean dress shirt with a pair of slacks that were just a bit too big, he looked more like the urbane Doctor she knew and less like a disreputable pirate. As his boots were still down in the living room his feet were bare and she was once again momentarily transported back to the day they met; he’d been running around the hospital with no shoes, apparently oblivious to the fact that the mortuary tag was still tied to his big toe.

She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised to find that the scratches had already begun to heal. “How did you get these?” she asked as she taped sterile gauze over the worst of them.

“Trying to get away from something with big teeth and even bigger claws that escaped into this dimension through a rip in time. Never had a chance to find out what it was; shall we call it Fred?” he suggested with a lop-sided smile as he buttoned up his shirt, and she knew he wasn’t giving her the full story, his ability to bullshit undimmed over the years. “Thank you for this, by the way; I seem to be making a habit of borrowing things from your boyfriends.”

Grace tried not to laugh at the idea of having a boyfriend at her age. “I’d hardly call twice in twenty years a habit, Doctor.”

“I would have gone back to the TARDIS for my own things, but, well... she’s not there.”

“Not there?” She abandoned the medical debris she was clearing up and turned to look at him. “What do you mean, not there?”

“Well, I can still feel her here,” He tapped his temple. “So she can’t be far away. But to all intents and purposes she’s gone.”

“And you’re not panicking at the thought?” she asked, leaning on the dresser. “That’s new.”

The Doctor chewed on his lip. “Last night... you mentioned taking some time out? I think the TARDIS might just agree with you.”

“You mean...?”

“I appear to be stranded, temporarily.” He might look older, but he could still do those puppy dog eyes she knew so well. “Is that invitation to stay still open?”

***

In the end she called in sick, not feeling as guilty as she would have done a few years ago about cancelling appointments and feeling guilty about that instead. The alternative would have been to leave the Doctor in the house alone, but after the last time, when he’d decided on a whim to rewire all her kitchen appliances to do the cooking for her and it had cost her a fortune to buy new ones, that wasn’t an option. A day or two later, however, it became obvious that, while he still pottered about the house offering to improve or fix things, he’d become calmer, a little less manic, since she’d seen him last, as if something (or several somethings) had happened to make him finally, for want of a better term, grow up.

So they went for walks in the park and down to the harbour, ate meals together and talked, and for once he really wasn’t getting antsy about the absence of his beloved ship. It was as though he knew he needed the time away from the madness and the war (which Grace kept thinking should have a capital W), needed some time for himself to stop him going as crazy as the rest of the universe. And she had to admit, it was nice to have him around; it had been too long since Greg walked out, flinging as a parting shot that he hoped she found that fairytale she was always looking for. Ever since then she hadn’t been entirely sure what she wanted from life any more.

And, of course, with that uncanny ability he had to read people’s souls, the Doctor picked up on her confusion.

They’d braved the cold one evening, once Grace was convinced his wounds really had healed, sitting on the deck with a couple of bottles of wine and Puccini playing on the stereo, the cloudless sky dusted with stars only dropping the temperature further still. He didn’t mind the chill but she insisted on finding him a proper scarf and it didn’t bother him that it was patterned in shades of pink and purple, commenting that it went rather well with his coat. The conversation drifted; she asked him about the constellations, trying to recall the ones she’d learned at school, and he’d idly told her stories, most of which she didn’t believe, however much she wanted to. In the past he’d always been happy to talk about his adventures but this time she knew he was spinning her tales, the truth right now too painful to touch.

She pointed vaguely overhead. “What’s that one?”

“Cassiopeia, but you’re wobbling towards Cameloparalis,” he said, and barely paused for breath before continuing, as if the words had been part of his original train of thought, “Grace, you’re not happy.”

“Who says?” She took a sip of wine, avoiding his gaze.

“ _I_ say. Why are you still on your own after all this time? Someone like you deserves to be taken care of, to be treated as the wonderful person you are.”

“Yeah, well.” Grace didn’t want to have this conversation, but it seemed the alcohol disagreed and her mouth carried on speaking without the consent of her brain. “I haven’t felt particularly wonderful lately. And the guys... they don’t want to stick around.”

“But why?” He sounded puzzled, and she supposed a Time Lord wouldn’t have much of an idea about dating and relationships. “You’re a terrific catch. You’re warm, sensitive, funny - ”

“And always looking for something else.” She took a deep breath and finally looked him in the eyes, seeing that the bewilderment was genuine; he really didn’t understand. “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, and he shook his head. “None of them were you.”

Comprehension dawned so clearly that a light bulb might have appeared in the air above them. She could almost see his mind working, frantically connecting all the threads, and then there was something else in the clear blue: regret. Suddenly it seemed imperative that she drink some more, and now. “Grace - ” he began, but she cut him off, reaching for her glass.

This time instead of sipping she knocked back the whole lot, and poured another. “It’s stupid, I know; it would never have worked.”

“You could have come,” he pointed out, putting a hand over his own glass when she tried to top it up. Grace was already feeling more than a bit tipsy but he seemed completely unaffected; how much would it take to get him drunk?

“And you could have stayed,” she countered immediately.

He sighed. “Don’t think I wasn’t tempted.”

“Same here.” She had another drink. “But it would have been a disaster; we’d have made each other miserable.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. Trying to keep you tied down to one place and time would be like keeping a wave in a cardboard box. And I like my routine, my familiarity, too much to throw it all away and become a traveller; it would drive me crazy. But sometimes... sometimes, when I’m up to my eyeballs in paperwork and another kid has just died on my table, I think it might have been nice, y’know?”

“Oh, Grace.” The Doctor put an arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. He wasn’t warm, but he felt comfortable. “What have I done to you? Whatever happened to your dream?”

“I think I stopped dreaming a long time ago,” she admitted, half into his coat. “Having to deal with budget cuts, back-biting, whistle-blowing and cover-ups when all you want to do is save lives does that to you.”

She felt, rather than heard him sigh again, and then he was turning his head, gently kissing her hair. The touch was soft, like a butterfly landing there. “I’m so sorry. I should never have kept coming back; without my interference you would have been able to go on with your life. Instead I’ve damaged you, just like all the others.”

“My life was already screwed up before I met you,” Grace mumbled as she slumped against his chest. “Don’t make it worse by wishing away the good bits.”

***

The sun was streaming through the windows when she woke the next morning and realised she was lying on the couch, covered with the Doctor’s coat. Her mouth felt like the Sahara and her head was pounding; for a few moments she couldn’t recall how she’d come to be sleeping downstairs, until her brain belatedly kicked in and she remembered him carrying her indoors. Obviously she couldn’t hold her drink as well as she had when she was younger. Sitting up and wondering if she had any aspirin in the bathroom cabinet she peered around the room, one hand to her head just in case it decided to fall off, and couldn’t see him anywhere.

There was no sign upstairs, either, but there was a pile of cleaned and neatly-folded clothes on the spare bed; it was only when she was coming back down, a packet of pills in her grasp, that she saw him: he was standing in the kitchen, a mug in his hand, gazing out through the window at something large and blue that was sitting right where the winter remains of that darned rose bush used to be. Grace made a mental note to start charging him for this wanton horticultural destruction; the TARDIS clearly had something against her flowerbeds. A silence that wasn’t quite companionable reigned as she downed the medicine and two glasses of water.

“So,” Grace said when the fog thankfully began to lift from her senses, “She’s back.”

He nodded, taking a drink of tea. “She arrived during the night.”

“Ah.” She looked him up and down; he’d evidently been busy during the night as he was wearing a new shirt and waistcoat, a dark scarf loosely knotted inside his open collar.  “You’ve obviously been inside; how come you’re still here?”

An eyebrow arched upwards and he regarded her back over the rim of his mug. “Do you want me to go?”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I want, does it? You’re going to go anyway.”

“After what you said last night - ”

“Doctor...” With a sigh she crossed over to him, smoothing out his lapels and straightening his scarf, tucking the ends into his shirt. Resting her hands on his shoulders she gave him a rueful smile. “I haven’t been drunk like that since I was a med student, and back then it took a lot more than a bottle and a half of red. Whatever I might say in my weaker moments, I’m a big girl and I know what’s right for me.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, covering one of her hands with his own. “Grace, I don’t want to leave you like this; it’s obvious that this life isn’t making you happy - ”

“And neither would dropping everything to head off beyond the stars with you. I don’t care what you say, you _know_ it wouldn’t, especially not if everything is falling apart. I’m right, aren’t I?” Grace asked, watching the look of frustration that passed over his face, feeling the increase in his pulses rate where his wrist rested against hers.

“Yes, you are,” he conceded reluctantly. “I can’t take you with me, not this time. So, what happens now?”

“You know what happens now,” she said firmly, and he blinked, surprised. “You’re going to get in your TARDIS and get right back out there. The universe needs you.”

“What makes you so certain? I seem to be increasingly irrelevant, an anomaly, an anachronism - ”

“Another word beginning with A? You’re going to save all those people, because that’s what you do,” Grace told him. “That’s who you are. You’re the Doctor, and doctors help wherever they can.”

“It may not be enough. Grace,” he said, taking both her hands in his and holding them tightly, his expression grave. “I... may not come back, not this me. There’s a feeling I’ve had for some time, a foreboding that something truly terrible is going to happen. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but these flashes, these strange moments of precognition that seem unique to this incarnation... they’re rarely wrong.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she retorted, her tone light despite the knot of fear the implication began to twist in the pit of her stomach. The thought of never seeing him again... “You once said I’d do great things.”

“And so you will. When that offer of a research position at ITAR comes up, don’t just dismiss it out of hand.”

“Doctor - ”

“They began testing Gareth Fitzpatrick’s new seismograph at the UCLA last month; it’s proving highly successful in laboratory tests. Please, Grace, just think about it.” He held her gaze and smiled slightly. “For me?”

She sighed. “OK, OK, you win. Look, will you do something for me in return?”

“Of course.” His eyes were soft, full of affection and at the sight her own smile went wrong round the edges. She freed a hand, cupping his cheek and feeling the unfamiliar roughness of the stubble that was growing there again.

“Take care of yourself. I don’t care what you’ve seen, what might happen, I want you to come back to me in one piece. You got that?”

There was a definite hitch in his breath and a wobble in his voice when he answered. “I’ll do my best.”

“And I’ll do mine,” Grace promised, fighting the lump that was suddenly there in her throat. “It’s been a privilege knowing you, Doctor.”

“It’s been an absolute pleasure and an honour knowing _you_ , Doctor,” he countered swiftly, and they looked at each other for a long moment before he bent his head and brought his lips to hers. The kiss was as chaste as all the others they had shared over the years, but with a hint of something more that would be destined to remain unexplored as he gently pulled away. He regarded her steadily and she thought for a moment that she saw him blink away a tear but she couldn’t be sure. “Thank you, Grace.”

She knew that if she didn’t let him go now she never would, and forced herself to slip from his embrace, feeling suddenly cold. “Go on,” she said, “Get back out there where you belong. Go do what’s right.”

He nodded, his grip lingering around her hand for a few seconds more before it slid away and he was moving, picking up his coat as he passed the couch on his way to the screen door. Taking a moment to pull it on, shaking out the folds, he smiled, a smile that was sad and beautiful and full of longing. “Goodbye,” he whispered, and then he was gone, Grace’s reply hanging in the air behind him.

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

She couldn’t watch as the TARDIS departed, the bellow of the unearthly engines ringing through the house. For a long time she sat slumped on the floor, the tears running down her face, her heart breaking. And then she got back to her feet, collected the mail with its letter from the Institute of Technological Advancement and Research, and went to buy another rose bush.

 

 


End file.
